Shut Up
by Aelia Douglass
Summary: The Lone Wanderer has been all over the Capital Wasteland, and it's taken its toll on her body. Charon wants to make that pain go away. One-Shot.


From the FalloutKinkMeme. Someone was having a bad day and wanted a story about a massage.

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><p>"No. I absolutely will not stand for it. It's ridiculous and <em>way <em>outside the scope of your duties and-" she paused for breath, and he seized the chance to interrupt.

"Shut up." The two words were spoken so firmly, so brusquely that she was shocked into silence. She gaped at him, completely bewildered by his daring. Charon _never _ordered her around, he just did her bidding and protected her. But he had just told her to shut up, and she didn't know what to think.

With that, Charon caught her behind her back and her knees, scooped her up, and hefted her over his shoulder as if she were no more than a sack of flour.

"Put me down, you oaf!" She gasped. He had no right to treat her like this. His hand rested on her rear, ostensibly to steady her, though she wondered when she felt it moving a little. She squirmed, wiggling her hips in an effort to get free. She beat at his back with one closed fist, but she may as well have been attacking with a feather. In response, he smacked her rear, earning a squeal of surprise from her.

"Hold still and be quiet." He grumbled. She continued squirming, and he spanked her once more. This time she stilled. She could picture the satisfied smirk on his face as he carried her upstairs. When she heard her bedroom door creak on its hinge, she knew she was truly doomed.

"I don't know what you think-" This time he didn't wait for her to draw breath, he simply interrupted.

"I believe I told you to shut up." He smacked her bottom one more time before kicking the door shut behind himself and dropping her onto her bed. She gazed up at him, suddenly less than pleased by the way his massive form dwarfed her.

"Charon-" she began, but he held one finger to the remains of his lips. He shook his head. The words died in her throat.

"Take it off, smoothskin." He said, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the door, effectively blocking any escape.

"But-"

"Either you take it off, or I will." He warned. She hesitated, trying to wrap her mind around this new and unfamiliar situation she found herself in. She might have sat there all night, blinking at him stupidly, but he stood up straight and uncrossed his arms, his intentions clear; it had not been a threat, it had been a promise. Her hands were on her buckle before he could take a single step in her direction.

She had never undressed so quickly in her life. His gaze raked over her, taking her in. She thought she saw his lips twitch into a smirk, but she couldn't be sure, because his hands were on her once more, grasping her by the waist and spinning her so she faced the bed. He gave her a quick shove, and she went sprawling face-first into her bed.

"Be a good smoothskin now, and let me work my magic."

She was filled with trepidation. This was a new and unfamiliar side of Charon, and she wasn't sure how she felt about it. She'd never done this before, though he was clearly experienced, and though she wanted to argue, and make things difficult, a part of her was so very curious that she could not quite bring herself to halt things. For all his domineering, she knew that she was safe. She could order him to stop at any time, and he would. So she stayed where she was. She would let him show her, because she could trust him not to hurt her.

The flimsy mattress sagged under his weight as he sat beside her, causing her body to slide downward until her hip brushed against his leg. She squirmed a little, trying to scoot away, but gravity held her.

Charon ignored her movement, and instead seized her foot in one hand, his thumbs firmly rubbing her instep. She sighed and went limp as she felt the tension dissipate from her foot. She'd walked the breadth of the Capital Wasteland on those aching feet, and now the pain was vanishing.

He grasped the other foot, and repeated the process, his hands easing pain she hadn't known she'd felt. Releasing tension she hadn't been aware she carried. It was amazing.

"It's hard to keep you alive when you're limping like a three-legged dog," he murmured as he began rubbing her calves.

She wanted to protest, but couldn't muster the energy to fight it. This was worth being slung over his shoulder and forced to undress. It was amazing, the way she felt the stress and tension of everything she'd gone through in the past weeks slip away.

His hands were on her thighs, his touch firm yet gentle, caressing her, stroking her, and yet it was not sexual at all. He was as professional as her father might have been. It was strange to think of her father and not be immediately filled with panic. They still hadn't found James, but she had a new lead. And right now, as selfish as it might be, she felt too good to worry.

Charon's hands moved to her lower back, his rough flesh rubbing against her sensitive skin carefully. She sighed once more and squirmed into a more comfortable position as she felt more tension seep out of her. She could never have known how good this would feel. She hadn't even been aware how much tension she had felt until it was gone, soothed away by his hands. His magical hands.

"I told you, smoothskin, you just had to let me work my magic. But you had to be difficult." He grumbled as his hands worked their way up her spine. She sighed once more, in a comfortable half-doze as she became more and more relaxed with each movement of his hands.

"You like it when I'm difficult. Gives you something to be grumpy over," her response was a sleepy murmur as she drifted in relaxation and comfort. She hadn't felt this good in a _long _time.

She heard his snort in response, and couldn't stop the chuckle that escaped. His hands had reached her shoulders, his fingers digging into the muscle just right to ease the ache. She'd taken to carrying a lot of supplies, and for all that Charon grouched, she carried the bulk of it herself. Her pack dug into her shoulders, sometimes leaving bruises over the course of long-hauls. His rough hands smoothed over her skin, stroking away the ache of dusty miles, making her feel as though it had never happened.

When the pain was gone, all she could feel was blissful relaxation. She was nearly asleep when he finally stopped, and stood.

"Sleep tight, kid. We've got a lot to do tomorrow." He pulled the blanket up over her, and left.

Tomorrow, she might wonder if she had actually felt the brush of a kiss upon her forehead, but for tonight, she would dream of other things his hands might do to her.


End file.
